


in search of symmetry

by ghostl0rd



Category: Final Fantasy XIII, Final Fantasy XIII Series, Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ballroom Dancing, Crossover Pairings, Espionage, F/M, Female Anti-Hero, Moral Dilemmas, Moral Lessons, Morality, Rare Pairings, Rivalry, Song Lyrics, Subtext
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-07-29 16:37:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7691836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostl0rd/pseuds/ghostl0rd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In another universe these two get along seamlessly.<br/>This is not that universe.</p><p>Ignis/Fang fic. Set in the To Catch a Sword by the Blade Universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in search of symmetry

**Author's Note:**

> Don't know if i wrote this because i loved [Sia's cover of Unforgettable](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=84hwjCnAVjU) so much or if i love the cover because i wrote this. . .whatever. This song is the ultimate ballroom dance song for a ship-i think, anyways.
> 
> Text enclosed in [ ] are text messaging/email.
> 
> Chronologically, this is set a little while after the wedding disaster in To Catch a Sword By the Blade. You could read this as standalone I guess, without reading TCaSbtB (wow even the abbrev is LONG lmao my bad). But yeah.
> 
> I headcanon that these two sit on opposite ends of the morality spectrum which is why they will inevitably clash - i.e. Fang would not hesitate to get her hands dirty to protect her family while Ignis draws a very clear line in the sand.  
> Basically lawful neutral meets chaotic good.
> 
> Enjoy!

The office of a one Ignis Scientia was a workspace befitting of one of Lucis’ most brilliant minds.  Bookshelves lining the walls running parallel towards the door, a circular table with a holographic map of Insomnia presently glowing blue sitting in the centre, empty coat rack built into the door, large sturdy desk—hand-carved oak by the feel of it—near the windows where Fang had let herself in. 

Fang easily made herself at home in the inviting leather desk chair, opened the box of  _Ferrero Rocher_  she’d scored from his desk drawers and swivelled to face the windows. In the sunlit courtyard below she spotted Lightning: newly-minted Kingsglaive sitting alone by the fountain, burger in one hand, phone in the other, scrolling boredly. Fang was reaching for her cell phone to prank-call her when the device vibrated unexpectedly in her pocket.

[Perv.]

Fang glanced down and saw Lightning staring straight up at her. Without breaking her gaze she took a large bite of her burger, chewing slowly. Fang flashed her a grin and waved. Old man Caelum was either a genius or a man with a death-wish for keeping her around.   _Probably did it for the drama of it all_ , Fang thought. 

She popped a chocolate into her mouth while typing back:

[What can I say, the view’s killer.  Also; how are you not melting - it’s practically 30 degrees!]

Lightning ignored it.[Are you actually eating his food?]

[Duh. I needed to replenish the lost energy.]  

Scaling the wall hadn’t been too difficult—Ignis’ office sat on the fourth floor—no biggie, but a snack never hurt anyone.   

[Should’ve used the front door then.]

[And get molested by interns wanting an autograph and photo op?] Fang snorted.  

[So tell them ‘no’.]

Condescending bitch.[Nah.  They’re cute tbh.]

[‘Vanille-cute’?]

Damn it, opened herself up for that one.

Lightning was smirking as she took the finishing bite of her burger, the smug bitch.

The breakup had been amicable—truthfully Fang and Vanille had begun to drift over the years—but it was still hard not to be bummed about it.  Fact of the matter was: Fang was usually the dump _er_ — _not_  dump _ee_. Hope must have been running his mouth off. Again.

She smirked right back at Lightning, popping another chocolate into her mouth.

[Nah, more like NOCTIS-cute.]

Forget lobster, Lightning’s face was  _beet_ -red, and it was rejuvenating to know it wasn’t due the sweltering heat.  Lightning had only told Serah, who unfortunately never kept secrets from  _Snow_ —marriage vows, and all that; these two were worryingly literal on that front—who went drinking with Lebreau and Rygdea one night,  _so_. 

 _Naturally_ , before the sun had even risen over Lucis the next morning, everyone in NORA knew about Lightning's night games with the prince, though only Fang was daring enough to tease her about it. A fact that probably hinged on Fang's survivability, more than anything else. 

[Fuck you.]  Lightning said.

[I thought that was  _his_  job, but hey, if you’re offering.]

[Punk. I have to go.]

Fang stood, gold tinfoil wrappers raining from her lap while she gave a mocking salute.  Lightning shook her head, typing again.

[You know it’s ILLEGAL for civilians to do that, right?]

[I’m as much a ‘civilian’ as YOU are, pink hair.]

Even from this distance Fang could tell Lightning had snorted.

[The pay’s good you know.]Lightning hinted.

[Is Noctis included in that deal, or is that discount only after the three-month probation?]

Lightning read that, then flashed her middle digit up at Fang in salute.  Fang tossed her head back and cackled.  Gods, it had  _never_  been this easy to rile her up.  Were her and prince-boy an _item_ now? 

[I’m serious, I could use an assistant.]

[I’ll bet.]

[Fang.]

Fang sighed **.** [I am deigning to ignore your ‘seriousness’,  _obviously_. Go have fun with your toy soldiers. I’ll see you at the BBQ.  And bring a NICE vino this time.  You don't get to be cheap like the rest of us with your pay-grade.]

[Later.]Lightning’s final text read ** _._** She dusted herself off as she stood, tossed her burger wrapper into a nearby bin and vanished before it even hit the bottom. 

“Don’t know what she sees in that boy,” Fang muttered.

Someone cleared their throat from behind.

 _Right on time_ , Fang thought.  She turned from the windows and switched on the charm, eyes luminous, brightest smile in place—like she meant it. 

“Ignis!” Fang said.  “ _Just_  the bespectacled man I wanted to see.” 

Ignis was draping his suit jacket over a coat hanger; transferring it to the coat rack.  He started pulling off his driving gloves.   

“Fang,” he replied, with all the enthusiasm of a sullen child unwrapping an unsatisfactory birthday present.  “To what do I owe the displeasure?”

“Well, I was missing your face so I decided to pop in.”

 _Your sanctimonious, soul-sucking, fun-averse, uptight face,_ she refrained from adding. 

“I thought it was made clear our association began and ended with Aldercapt.”

Fang fought the urge to roll her eyes and kept on smiling.   Ignis had been professional back then but the undercurrent of distrust every time they’d met up at Yusnaan—pulling  _teeth_. 

“If that’s the case why haven’t you kicked me out yet?”

“I’m getting to that,” Ignis said.  His eyes went to the floor, scowling at the empty wrappers that Fang, up until that moment, had been subtly sweeping under his desk with her boot.  “Really?”

“I’m not the one who didn’t lock their window.”

“It  _was_ locked.   _And_ warded.”

“Hmph.  Your word against mine.”

“Alright, let’s get this over with.”

She and Ignis traded places, Fang seating herself opposite, resting her boots on the table. Eventually he reached over and firmly pushed her feet off, squirting hand-sanitizer (there was a dispenser she’d seen in his desk drawer) onto his palms, rubbing them briskly together.  Finally, he opened the laptop on his desk.

“What, no face mask?” Fang teased.  “Hazmat suit? I hear keyboards carry  _a lot_  of bacteria.”

“Just tell me what you want.” Ignis said. He opened up one of the files in front of him and started thumbing through it: graphs and diagrams and a whole lot of numbers by the look of it—Fang’s interest only lasted two seconds.  She plucked one of the fountain pens from the stand in front of her and spun it dexterously between her fingers, looking about the room. 

She spotted a photograph of a younger, scrawnier Ignis in a graduation cap and gown; hair slicked back the same way, but there was a rare smile on his face that piqued her interest.  So apparently city boy  _did_ smile after all.

“Honors?” Fang guessed.  Ignis looked up. 

“Yeah.”

“First class?”

“How’d you figure?”

“Old man Caelum doesn’t strike me as someone who’d choose mediocre.”

Ignis looked pleased to hear it—well, his scowl had lessened by  _a lot_ , if that could be considered an indicator.  He even put down the file he was reading.

“Alright I’ll bite.  You have five minutes: go.”

“There’s going to be a private fundraiser in a few nights time at  _The_   _Clarion_." Fang said.  "Five thousand gil per head.”

“To support Volunteers Without Borders,” said Ignis, looking surprised.  “I didn’t think you’d be interested in things like that.”

“I’m not.” Fang agreed, mildly pleased at the correct assumption.  “But it has come to my attention that I should start thinking of my future.” 

“Prominent divorcee in search of a new wife?” Ignis guessed, voice slightly teasing.

“So you know a few!” Fang pointed, grinning.

“I might.” He turned a page.  “So you want in.”

“ _Enthusiastically_. But I’m not shelling out five grand,” Fang added. “I’ve invested  _that_  in something else.  This is where  _you_  get to come to the rescue.”

Gods, you’d think she'd just broken his favourite toy, with the look on his face.

“You want  _me_  to sneak  _you_  in.” 

“Of  _course_  not,” Fang said. Ignis looked visibly relieved at this, which made his horrified reaction at the next part all the more enjoyable: “I  _need_  you to take me as your date.”

“ _Excuse_  me?” Ignis set down the file again, frowning.   

“A little birdie told me you always go stag to these gigs.”

One of Ignis’ hands slowly curled into a fist.  Defensive.  “You’re well informed.”

“Hey, you have your networks, I have mine.” Fang shrugged. 

(Actually, what Fang had was _leverage_ on a one Hope Estheim. Hope had a crush on a cute co-ed who regularly visited Lebreau's and she’d threatened to sing like a bloody canary if he didn’t hack into Ignis’ personal email. Hope called the act of hacking a government official's account 'treason'. Teenagers could be  _so_ dramatic, sometimes.)

“And don’t worry your big brain about being embarrassed," Fang said.  "I know my butter knife from my steak knife.”

Any harder and Fang was sure Ignis was actively trying to break his own jaw, the way he was clenching it. 

“So you just want in at this event; I won’t need to babysit you?”

“Oh I don’t know; babysitting could be fun.” Fang grinned, shamelessly giving him the once-over.  Holier-than-thou as he was, the man would make a lovely accessory for her dress. 

“Pass.” Ignis said. “So that’s it then; I get you in—you leave me alone.”

“ _After_ you introduce me to a certain someone,” Fang added. “I hear the CEO of VWB is looking quite  _lonely_  these days.”

Ignis looked at her suspiciously.  “That’s a very  _specific_  ‘certain someone’.”

“Of course; I hear there’s a void in his heart.”

“You referring to the divorce?”

“No, I’m referring to the void in his heart.”

Ignis sighed. 

“I’m good at filling voids,” Fang continued, because his disdain was almost as entertaining as Lightning’s.  _Almost._ “You could say I give good ‘void’.”

She settled back into her chair, letting the innuendo marinate.

Ignis stared at her so  _witheringly_  for  _so_  long, Fang actually started having  _happy_  flashbacks of the headmistress of the boarding school she and Vanille grew up in. 

 “As soon as you’re through the doors we don’t know each other and you  _don’t_  ever break into my office again,” he said.

“Done and done.” Fang got to her feet. “Thanks love.”

Patting him neatly on the shoulder, she let herself out through out the window and vaulted over the balcony.

 

~

 

The gown was designer—single-shoulder style; royal blue silk with an  _outrageous_  sky-high thigh split running up one side.  It had even taken Ignis a second to realize he had been staring when he opened the door for her taxi on  _The Clarion’s_  front steps—a fact that had Fang feeling particularly smug.  Like other nights in Lestallum it was humid, but there was a pleasant breeze in the air swirling the silk around her legs like dark water.  She had chosen the dress purely for mobility reasons, but a little boost to the ego never hurt anyone: before the cab door had even closed behind her she'd heard three passers-by wolf-whistle appreciatively.   _Perfect_.

“Is it the hair?” Fang teased. People only recognized her with The Hair, and up until tonight she couldn’t remember the last time she’d bothered picking up a curling iron.  Suffice it to say, taming her wolf-mane into soft, loose waves had been an interesting test of muscle memory; the effort all boiling down to a general understanding of humidity and shitloads of hairspray.  End result: Fang couldn’t tell where the hairspray ended and where her perfume began, but who gave a shit, honestly: she was  _smoking_  and Mr. High Horse’s jaw was somewhere on the floor.  Everyone else could call it a night as far as she was concerned.

“It’s not the hair.” Ignis offered a polite smile and his arm.  “Sorry, I was just trying to place the designer.  Joanna Johnston?”

Etro, this man was _good_.  Not that Fang would ever give him the satisfaction. “Maybe,” she replied, pretending to check her nails. 

“Five grand well spent.”

“Mm.  Five grand  _not_ spent,” Fang corrected, as they started up the steps to the hotel entrance. “Label’s still attached—store credit.”

“ _Clever_ ,” said Ignis.  He produced an ornate invitation from his jacket pocket and presented it to the man checking names off a list. Beside the man, packing a very nasty-looking assault rifle was a guard, presently speaking into a headset.  While they waited for her to finish, Fang leaned closer to her ‘date’.  

“Yeah I mean I would have  _stolen_  it, but people notice when a ridiculously priced frock goes missing.” Ignis looked dismayed.  Fang flashed an innocent smile at the similarly appalled guard as they passed.  

Her heels clicked against marble as they entered the foyer, up a flight of steps before the signs finally pointed them through a flower petal-lined hallway toward  _The Lumen Ballroom._   As they got closer the first few notes of Nat King Cole’s  _Unforgettable_  began to permeate the silence between them: a lilting build toward crescendo that Fang found strangely calming. 

“If they don’t, then they also have tracking chips sewn into them just in case.” Ignis said.

“You’re all so paranoid,” Fang muttered. 

They stepped onto hardwood flooring and into the glittering lights of the ballroom. 

 

~

 

Ignis’ reasoning behind dancing with her was to paint her as an object of envy and desire, but Fang was eighty per cent sure it was backfiring: the majority of the gazes trained on her person were outwardly resentful; not the least bit lustful _._ Fang’s CEO was currently on the balcony vaping into the next dimension and she had been prepared to follow him out there when Ignis intercepted, steering her to the dance-floor. 

“A word.” 

Smarmy as the CEO was, with his innuendos and double entendre’s, Fang found that less excruciating than being stared at like a lab rat under a microscope.  Ignis wasn’t that much taller than her—only a few inches, and her heels more than made up for that, putting them at eye-level— even so, Fang straightened her shoulders as far as they could go and kept her chin high.  Petty?  Probably.  But she wasn’t about to be stared down by some ignorant city boy who constantly acted like she knocked his ice-cream onto the ground.   

  

_Unforgettable, that’s what you are. . .  
Tho' near or far_

 

 _  
_ “ _Again_?” Fang said, looking incredulously at the woman performing onstage.  

“I requested it,” Ignis explained. Fang looked at him oddly.  He shrugged. “I really enjoyed her rendition.”

Dork, Fang thought, snorting. 

Ignis looked at her like  _she_ was the weird one.  "She took it as a major compliment.  Left me her card.”

“Of  _course_ she did,” Fang snickered to herself. 

“No, not like that,” Ignis said, looking thoroughly put-out now.

“ _Mate_. I’m totally  _not_ judging,” Fang chuckled. She wagged one eyebrow up and down.  “What happens in Lestallum  _stays_  in Lestallum, am I right?”

Ignis ignored that.  “You might have noticed that there are other people at this fundraiser who could give your CEO a run for his money.”

“They could,” Fang was willing to admit. Ignis spun her out and back in again; blue silk floating elegantly in the air behind her.  “But there’s still only  _one_  CEO of VWB at the end of the day.”

“I thought so too.  So I took the liberty of delving further into his background,” Ignis said—a little too quietly, and seriously for comfort. “And when I found nothing, I dug deeper.”

The smile on Fang’s face that had been plastered since the beginning of the night began to peel at the edges.  “You did.”

Of course he did.

“Whatever you’re planning, I advise against it.”

“ _Planning_?” Fang scoffed. “I’m not planning anything.  Put that paranoia away before you poke someone's eye out.”

“Whatever you’ve  _planned_ ,” Ignis rephrased, and this time his expression had turned cold.  “Shut it down  _right_  now or I go straight to the King and have you and your friend's citizenship papers revoked.”

Fang glared at him. 

"And Prompto says  _you're_  the rationalone.”

Guilt flashed in Ignis' eyes then, but before she could capitalize, the lines in his face hardened once more.  

“Lucis can't afford to be implicated because of your recklessness.” 

Fang’s eyes flickered to the CEO leaning on the balcony railing. Completely oblivious.  She turned back to Ignis, now officially pissed off.

“Did it ever occur to you that I might actually be the good guy?”

“Shut it down and I will believe you,” Ignis said.  He danced her to the windows as the song ended. “ _Now_.”

“We're on the same—”

“ _Now._ Or throw away the livelihoods of all the people who have come to call Lucis home.”

 _“Phoenix I have eyes on the prize,”_ Rygdea announced. Fang heard the metallic cling of a rifle’s safety catch being switched off.   _“Groundhog is in position, waiting for the go ahead.”_

Fang clenched her teeth and grudgingly touched the earpiece hidden beneath her hair. Ignis crossed his arms.

“Execute,” Fang said.   

Ignis' eyes widened. He whipped around to warn someone--

**_BOOM._ **

As the first explosions shook the foundations of  _The Clarion,_ knocking everyone off their feet and shattering the windows, Fang broke off into a dead-sprint toward the balcony, kicking off her heels as she went.  Behind her the ballroom had descended into utter chaos: people screaming and scrambling over each other to get to the exit. 

She caught the CEO just as the tranquilizer began to take effect, hoisting him over one shoulder and swinging a leg over the balcony railing. 

“Someone needs to go easy on the hors d'oeuvres,” she grunted, struggling a little to regain equilibrium after almost overbalancing. "Just forewarning you Groundhog--"

" _Copy that_ ," Rosch muttered, irritated.

“Fang!” Ignis shouted, fighting through the waves of people to get to her. 

Whipping her hair cheekily over her shoulder, Fang grinned.  

She gave him a final, false salute and leapt with her quarry into the inky dark.

 

* * *

 

 _That's why, darling, it's incredible_  
_That someone so Unforgettable_  
_Thinks that I am_  
_Unforgettable, too_

 

* * *

 

**-to be concluded-**

**Author's Note:**

> If you've seen Mission Impossible: Rogue Nation, Ilsa Faust's dress is exactly what I had in mind for Fang. Joanna Johnston was the costume designer for the film ;)  
> I headcanon that Rygdea chose the nicknames, and Rosch hates working with him.


End file.
